


Kill Me Now

by Randabble



Category: Mad Max Fury road, Mad Max Series (Movies), mad max - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Homophobic Language, M/M, Masturbation, Men Crying, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-07
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-03 07:47:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4092829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Randabble/pseuds/Randabble
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nux convinces Slit to help him and they end up on the War Rig together. Slit feels uncomfortable and could use his partners help ... but Nux has found someone else to hold his attention.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Hello. I hope to add more chapters every night, please tell me what you think! Sorry for any mistakes.

Slit feels like hes going to vomit. Nervous tendrils of fear and anxiety worm their way through the war boy's stomach like a virus. Sweat drips down his pale, painted brow despite the cool breeze blowing in from the war rigs open windows.  
He doesn't remember a time in his whole life where he has ever felt so out of place.

The brisk night air is doing nothing to calm his singing nerves. Around him, squashed uncomfortably in the back of the war rig are the wives, and Nux. Two bodies to his left, three to his right. Ahead is Furiosa with the sleeping Bloodbag riding shotgun.

Slit exhales softly and drags his eyes down to his dirty, scared hands, awkwardly tangled together into his lap, the press of bodies around him forcing his shoulders inwards. His fingernails are dirty and ragged, with black lines of grit and oil stuck underneath them. He can see the Dag's hands right next to him, crossed over her supple chest. She was displeased at having to sit next to the short war boy. Her fingernails are clean and manicured, he notes to himself. Her pale, perfect, flawless body aggravates him for some reason he can not place... She is almost asleep, her head resting daintily on Cheedo's shoulder, thankfully, turned away from Slit. He shifts his head to the other side, desperate to make eye contact with his driver. Slit wanted something familiar in this strange hell he had landed in; even if it was just a glance or a nod from someone he knew.

Nux is still awake, but his eyes are occupied by Capable. His driver was peering down at the red head with some look that drills a spike of pain right into Slit's organs. His dirty hands clench in his lap and a ragged sigh leaves his nose, coming out shaky and tight. The lancer looks back down at his grimy paws attempting to clear his muddled thoughts.

After a while he shuts his eyes, and tries to get a little more comfortable, leaning back in his seat, wiggling to get space. He does not want to think about it. Does not want to think about what those emotions mean. Not right now. There is too much going on. He is so tired. So beaten down ...

"Get OFF me schlanga-" Blessed sleep had just started to wrap around his consciousness when the Dag elbowed him hard in the side of the head. Slit's eyes snapped open as pain blossomed in his cheek, the metal staples biting into his gums. Slit's hand goes for a knife on his side that isn't there. The war boy sat up, snarling - 

"Slit!" Nux gasped from across the back seat. It took him a moment to slam a lid on the cauldron of rage that had burst forth in his chest. He came to an abrupt halt, mid lunge. All eyes were on him. Awake. Grumpy. 

Furiosa's hand was on the bone blade in the gear shift. He met her eyes and squinted.  
The Dag shoved at his shoulder again.   
"He was leaning on me! Trying to get a feel!"  
"I was not!" Slit spat, turning to glare at her, one bad eye having trouble focusing on her with how quickly his head snapped around. He hated how childish and petty the statement came out.

Furiosa looked between them. Slit could feel the tension strung tight in the small space they shared. They trusted Nux. Him? Not so much.

The lancer squared his shoulders, hissing out a sigh, still struggling with the urge to throw himself at the Dag. Uppity little bitch that she was. He bet he could rip a chunk of that pretty hair right off her pretty scalp before - No. No. Calm down.

"I - I'm just going to the back. I'll take over scouting." He muttered, looking down at his knees.

"Fine." Furiosa said after a long moment of silence, and slid the bone knife back into it's slot with a sharp 'snik' - shifted round in her seat, and focused back on the road. He knew she didn't really care what he did with himself as long as there would be no further interruptions.   
The rest of the wives still looked at him, their faces filled with distrust. He stood up awkwardly, trying to shift around all the bodies and badly placed knees. Dag hissed at him, kicked at his leg. He leaned forward to try to escape her taunting, head bumping against the tin roof.

"Careful -" Nux spoke finally, a look of concern passing his face as his partner moved to go.

"I don't think Shortstack has to worry about hitting his head too bad." Toast quipped with a sharp giggle. "He can barely reach it standing."  
The wives smiled and smirked, and Nux did too, a shy little thing that perked up half of his mouth. Slit had always loved getting him to smile like that when they were on their own together.  
Maybe Nux saw the look of pain that crossed over his lancers face before Slit quickly ducked out of the war rig's cabin, disappearing out the door to head to the back. If he did, he said nothing.

 

For a blessed minute, Slit felt relief wash over him as he was mercifully alone again. he could almost pretend he was back in Joe's cavalcade like this, crawling over the back of the war rig. Warm metal under his fingers and the sandy wind blasting on his shoulders. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine Doof riffing on his flaming guitar, the chords echoing around him...  
Slit took his place in the back of the rig, sighed hard, and brought his knees up to his face, resting his forehead against his dirty pants.

What was he doing.  
What in Joe's name was he doing.

Slit did not know why he had decided to help the wives...  
No.  
No that was a lie.  
He did.  
Nux pulling at his arm, those big blue eyes wide. 'They need us, Slit.' He had said. 'Well be helping'  
'I don't care!' he had snarled back. 'Please Slit, help me, if not them...'

Thats what had got him. Nux and his shiny eyes looking down at him, begging. Begging for his help. HIS.  
He couldn't say no to Nux when he got like that. Deep down he wanted his partners approval so, so badly. Craved it like water on a hot day in the Citadel. 

Slit licked his lips at the thought. His heart was beating so fast ... he pressed a hand over his chest trying to get it to slow down, tilting to rest his head on the rocking side of the war rig. He could never let Nux know how he felt, of course.  
He had been infatuated with the younger since they were pups. His partner, his other half, his driver. He was supposed to be the tough one - but Nux, big, gangly, cheerful Nux got him in ways he could not and would not ever understand. Nux showed Slit kindness in a world where he thought it was long dead.

How many nights had he woken up to his partner's forehead pressed against his own, their hot breath mingling, and just ... looked at Nux, wanting to close the gap between their lips, wake him up, tell him that he was the most important thing in his life and that Slit didn't want to go to Valhalla unless it was by his side. 

Love was a strong word that Slit did not know. War boys didn't say things like that. Especially not to other war boys.

Slit furrowed his brow, and ran a finger down the rusted inside of the scout perch, feeling the grain catch on his skin.

Sometimes, they would catch a glimpse of one of the Immortans wives, shiny, chrome, ethereal walking through the halls of the Citadel. Nux would gasp and grab his arm.   
'Look Slit-' He would say under his breath, his big, stupid eyes full of wonder. 'Aren't they so chrome?'  
No, Slit would think. He did not see the appeal. They did nothing for him but make him angry.  
'Whatever' He would snap back, tugging Nux away.  
'You shouldn't even look, the Immortant wouldn't like it.' He wanted Nux to turn back to him. Damn the wives.

He could never understand it, what the other boys saw. What made their pricks stiff in the bunks when they spoke of the wives. Soft curves and gentle slopes of their bodies. He didn't get it at all. It did nothing for him. Too much flesh in places it didn't need to be. They were too soft, too fragile. He didn't like it.

Once, during a rare solitary moment back home, Slit caught the reflection of himself in a waxed and buffed side of a pursuit vehicle. He had looked for a long time, gingerly put his hands around his waist and pushed in, trying to mimic those curves and swells in his own skin. He had turned one way, and the other, trying to see it, to copy whatever the wives had, and eventually giving up, sulking for the rest of the evening. Their draw was unobtainable for him, and he knew that. 

The was rig swerved and tilted, his head smacking into the side. Slit blinked and sat up, rubbing his bruised cranium. They were stopping for the night, had at least a day ahead of Joe. The war rig rumbled as they pulled it near the red stone cliffs for cover, the huge machine finally hissing and gurgling to a halt, the front lamps clicking off, leaving them in darkness as silence, save for the occasional pop of the cooling engine.

The doors of the cab popped open, and Slit watched the woman pile out, followed by Max and Furiosa, who were speaking in hushed tones together. He raised a hand, waving at Nux when the younger slid out of the seat and into the sand. He got no wave back, his driver had already turned to help his stupid red headed bitch out, looking so worried for her, like the foot drop to the earth might injure her delicate ankles...

Slit clenched his hand and drew it back into his chest, turning away from them, as if he could take back the gesture before anyone saw.

"Hey Ugly." The Dag.  
"Get down here and help us."


	2. You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, I know I said every night, but ... I forgot my password to the site! I remembered it though! Again, sorry for any mistakes.

Slit looked off into the distance, scratching at his bad ear. It wasn't tumors that riddled the knobby appendage, the organic mechanic had said as much when he had inquired about the small lumps that clung just under his flesh. They were, apparently, just leftover scars from getting hit one too many times in the side of his head.  
If there was one thing Slit was good at, it was getting hit. He could take a hit. This? He wasn't sure how to take, or handle at all. Emotional, 'feelings' ridden situations were not his forte. 

He pressed a finger against his smarting ear, and looked around, stomach kicking up now too, a long growl rumbling from inside of his guts reminding him that he had needs; mainly hunger.  
The night was dark, a deep blue haze setting over the desert landscape. He was curled up near the back of their large truck in the dark, sitting in a sand pile, and about a hundred feet away, on the other side of the war rig, was everyone else.

He could hear the crackling fire they had set, see orange light flickering from under the rig's bottom, and smell the roasting lizard Nux and himself had caught earlier.  
He would not be eating any though. Asking for some meant moving over to the group, and he was positive no one wanted to interact with him or share the food, even though he had had a hand in helping acquire it.  
Nux had been thanked profusely and kissed by Capable, his scared up lips twisting into that sheepish smile that Slit liked so much.

Slit? Slit had dropped a lizard and Toast had started screeching at him, yelling that he had 'better catch his dinner or he was going hungry'. The lancer watched the animal scrabble away and shove itself under a rock, wishing he could do the same.

He inhaled deeply, and moaned to himself, hearing a small chorus of laughs echo from the other side of the rig. He could imagine what they were laughing at. Probably not him, but it felt like it.

Well, with the Dag it very well could have been. He had reluctantly provided the entertainment all afternoon. She had been poking at him, and going on and on the whole time about how wide his mouth looked. Asking him if he 'really' thought that his mods looked cool. Hooking her fingers on the sides of her own lips and pulling outward. 'Look, I'm a short pale toad, good at catching lizards and not much else-' He had watched her dance around, waggling her tongue at the other woman, making them laugh. Slit had tried his very hardest to keep his face as neutral as possible. knowing Furiosa's eyes were on him. He would try to offer her his own lousy smile, feign he was laughing at the joke as well. At his own expense. In reality, he thought he could hit the Dag hard enough to send her right past Valhalla to wherever bitch woman go. Someplace nasty, hopefully.

Slit scowled and pushed himself closer to the huge truck's tires. They were still a little bit warm from the road, and with no one watching, he felt no shame pressing his bare chest against them to try and soak up some of that heat. 

He bumped his forehead lightly against the worn rubber, pretending it was another body. The lancer wanted so badly to have not done this. To have dragged Nux back kicking and screaming to the bunks when he had the chance. Even dealing with a pissy driver would have been better.  
Worse yet, there was no going back now. He had traitored Joe. No coming back from a fuck up that big. Not alive, anyways.  
Truthfully, Slit saw nothing in Joe himself, in fact he rather detested the man, not that he would ever say. It was the promise of Valhalla that kept him motivated. He would get there, he had to. It had been his dream since he was a scrappy little pup. The promise that would lift him out of the lonely, dusty miserable wasteland and to blessed heaven where everything went 'right' for him for a change.  
Now, he wasn't sure if he would ever get there.

The lancer poked out his dry tongue and tried to wet his chapped lips, figuring he might as well try to get some sleep to ward away the hunger chewing at his belly.  
He slumped down, and pushed some of the sand around into a little nest, curling up in his small pit to avoid the chilly desert night winds.

Slit exhaled slowly, listening to another laugh echo through the plains - and then, oddly enough, crying.  
One of the wives was sobbing, loud enough for him to hear it. He lifted his head a little to peek under the rig, squinting to try and see who it was. The long black haired one he forgot the name of -- and then she was yelling. Screaming about Joe, how she hated him, how he had used them, how they were not things...not things. Not Things.

She wasn't even knocked up! Slit didn't know what she was bitching about.  
He ignored her bawling, and went back to curling up, trying to make his bed decent enough to pass out in.

'The wives had it good.' he thought to himself. They bathed in water, they had no work, food and drink whenever they wanted, and the only price they had to pay was what? Joe sexed em' every now and again. It didn't sound like a bad job at all. Even the air they breathed was better than what he had.

Slit remembered the first time Joe had fucked him. He had been young. Too young. That was where his own hero worship for the man had turned sour.

It had been a hot night, and the man had smelled like mothers milk and alcohol mixed together. He had been sweaty, heavy and hot on Slit's back making it hard to breath, and he sounded like a dying animal when he muttered things under his breath. Slit just remembered staring at a wall, too afraid to even scream, unsure at what was going on, and unsure how to handle it. It had hurt for hours after, yes, but he had extra rations for a week. The second time hadn't been so painful. The third, and he could almost block the grunts of the old warlord out of his mind. Every time after that - he thought of Nux.

It was a rumor the war boys knew to be true. No one spoke of it, but it was common knowledge among the ranks.  
The Immortan liked his wives painted like war boys when he rutted. White and black. He liked it that way for a reason.

The organic would figure out which of the war boys were like Slit when they were still just pups. Ask them questions, get them figured out. Who liked girls? No? Well then ... who liked boys?

Of that pool of homosexual contenders, Joe would have his pick.   
Slit had grown out of the Joe's tastes many years ago. He was no longer attractive to the old man. It had been a relief, to stop being called to the top of the citadel, but the memories still weighed on him heavily. He tried his best to ignore them when he could.

He snorted into his shoulder. Unfortunately, the wailing wife was making that, and sleeping, rather hard. She was still going on about Joe. Slit reached up and put his arms over his ears, turning his back to the group, hunkering down in his sandy bed to try again to get some shut eye, wishing the bitch would just. shut. up.

Eventually, she did, and Slit pushed the thoughts of heavy animal breathing and rancid mothers milk out of his mind, and instead, filled it with Nux.  
Nux who smiled at him and Nux who shared his food, and Nux who slept next to him and held his hand and looked up at him with his big blue eyes. Nux who would shake him awake when he had nightmares and Nux who would rub at his back when he got sore after a long days ride.

Slit shuddered and wrapped his arms around himself, breathing in deep. In and out. Nux, who he missed, terribly...

A hundred feet away, Nux laughed, and hugged Capable tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you have any comments - I sure do like comments!


End file.
